


Addicted

by WHlZZERBR0WN



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addiction, Alcoholics Anonymous, Dramedy, F/M, Hansy - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Rom-com, Therapy, it's not dark i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-26 10:24:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17744147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WHlZZERBR0WN/pseuds/WHlZZERBR0WN
Summary: “My name is Pansy and I am not an alcoholic,” she gruffly stated. Everyone in the room groaned.She wasn't. She was completely in control and everything she did was her choice. And furthermore, it wasn't an alcohol addiction per se. It was him. And how good he was in bed.Intoxicating, really. Practically addicting. That would probably explain why she got drunk and fucked him approximately five nights a week.





	1. Hello, my name is Pansy Parkinson.

“Hello, my name is Hannah Abbott and I’m an alcoholic,” the five foot four woman with honey-colored hair spoke. Pansy rolled her eyes as everyone half-heartedly chanted a greeting. This whole exercise of showing up to this meeting was Draco’s idea, of course. And, because it was Draco’s idea, Draco was sitting beside her in the school gym with the red, plastic chairs. And, because it was Draco’s idea and he was sitting beside her in the school gym with the red, plastic chairs, Pansy couldn’t actually talk about her real-life feelings. Not that she would have if she weren’t with him, just that now it was even worse. 

“It’s just so hard, you know, because I own a bar and so the alcohol is always right there. And then some old, drunk guy yells at me and I just need a little bit of tequila so I don’t start crying and then the next thing I know I’ve had a whole bottle and I’m letting people do free body shots off of me in my own bar,” Hannah continued. Hannah fucking Abbott gets drunk and lets people do body shots off of her? Pansy snorted. On her left, Draco glared. He had to know that she wasn’t going to take this seriously. She liked that he was annoyed with her… she was annoyed with him, so it was really only fair. 

“Great job, Hannah. We can all imagine that struggle,” their chapter leader, a plump older woman named Pomona said. “Okay, who’s next? Pansy? What about you,” she prompted. This was the moment Pansy had been dreading. Being forced to talk in front of all these losers. Pansy sunk lower in her chair. It was dreadfully uncomfortable, but so was the room. After a minute of everyone staring at her and Pomona gesturing for her to go, Pansy took a deep breath and decided to just wing it.

“My name is Pansy and I am not an alcoholic,” she gruffly stated. Everyone in the room groaned. Pansy shrugged her shoulders as she looked at all of the disappointed faces before settling on Draco’s. Disappointed wasn’t the right word. His crestfallen face and pitying eyes made her angry.

“It’s just,” she trailed off before finding the words and starting over, “I like going to the bar, okay?” She received blank stares and a few knowing ones. They didn’t know her. They didn’t understand her.

“Every time I drink, it’s because I want to,” Pansy said, almost emphatically. She was well aware that she came here on her own volition, but she also felt a weird urge for them to tell her to leave. That she didn’t belong in Alcoholic’s Anonymous. That she was a polar bear among grizzlies. She realized then that they believed her to be in denial. 

“That’s all well and good, Pansy, but if that’s the case then why are you here?” Pomona asked the million dollar question. Of course she did. Pansy’s shoulders sank as exasperation sunk in. 

“To be perfectly frank, it’s because he made me,” she flung her arm to point in Draco’s ferrety direction. He openly gaped at her.

“Me? You think you’re here because of me? No, Pansy, you’re here because you showed up at my fucking house at six in the morning on a Tuesday,” he shouted, “Who gets shitface drunk on a Monday?” Now they were both standing, facing each other, red in the face. They had always fought as toddlers, as children, as teenagers, and now as adults. Nothing was new here. 

“If you want me to stop coming to your house that’s fine I just won’t come anymore. I don’t care. It’s just that I stupidly thought that you were my best friend.”  
“Don’t play that card with me. If you were my best friend you would stop trying to give yourself liver failure five days a week.”  
“You’re just jealous, Draco. You’re jealous because we used to hang out and get drunk and have fun. Now you’ve decided to settle down into some stupid house that’s close to a Volvo dealership or whatever it is that boring people care about.”  
“Pansy, that doesn’t even make any sense.”  
“Oh, I’m not making sense? Look in the mirror Mr. I’m In Love and I Want to Get Married and Have Two Point Five Kids.”  
They mirrored each other. Both scowling with their hands on their hips.  
“Um, okay. I think we’ve had a very productive meeting today and I look forward to seeing everyone next week,” Pomona said quietly.

Pansy huffed and grabbed her jacket and purse from underneath the chair. Giving Draco one more angry glance, she fled the gymnasium. She couldn’t believe that she had taken the morning off of work for this. If that wasn’t bad enough, Draco has driven her which meant that she was without a ride. She also couldn’t stand there because then Draco would come out and try to talk to her.

It was all really quite unfair because Draco used to be just like her. He used to avoid his feelings, drink himself stupid, and never try to make her talk about what was bothering her. Where was that Draco now? Probably in the garbage alongside that dragon statue that used to be a centerpiece in his flat. All of her friends were settling down. Getting engaged and then married. Having babies and buying houses. Leaving her behind. 

This thought was punctuated by her black ankle boots sinking into the mud. Pansy groaned and decided to give in to her love of not walking four miles in her work clothes. She dialed for a car to pick her up and brought the phone to her ear. As they asked her for an address, she decided to go home. Getting straight to the office would probably be ideal now, but then she wouldn’t have her car at the end of the day and would need to call again to be driven back to her house. And if she had to call to get back to her house, she might as well just ask to be taken to the bar. And if she asked to be taken to the bar, then she would be proving Draco right… Obviously, it would be her choice to be taken to the bar, but Draco is too daft to understand the complexities of the human conscious. 

At this point, she was at a great enough distance from the building that Draco wouldn’t be able to see her as she waited. So stood in place and tapped her foot. A red car pulled up in front of her and she swung the door open and got inside. 

“Hi, ma’am,” the driver said, “how has your day been?” Pansy just hummed. After a few seconds, he would understand that she wasn’t here for small talk or companionship. She just needed a ride home. As long as he didn’t annoy her too much, or try to kill her, she would give him a handsome tip and be on her way. 

Seven minutes later, they pulled up at Pansy’s destination. She handed him a wad of bills and wordlessly got out of the car. Coming up to her door, she shoved it with her shoulder while twisting the brass key. Everything looked the same as she left it so she dropped her things on the linen sofa and proceeded to her bedroom to change shoes. 

Despite living here for nearing on two years, Pansy had done a lackluster job of furnishing the flat. It wasn’t empty by any means. She was safe in the sweet spot between it a home and a hovel. Furniture, but no decorations. Unless you counted the ficus in the corner and the tiny cactus on her windowsill. Pansy had always wanted to get more but didn’t want to fool herself into believing that she was a functioning human being capable of mothering plants. 

Stepping into her bedroom she froze upon seeing her messy sheets still surrounding a person. First, she checked for breathing. For two very practical reasons: 1.) him being dead would be a very practical excuse for why he had the audacity to still be here rather than literally anywhere else and 2.) if he wasn’t already dead, he would be soon. 

Reaching out her arm, she took two fingers and shoved them in between his ribs. Abruptly he pushed himself up and squirmed away from her.

“What the fuck was that for?”

A moronic question from her moronic companion. How he survived this long in life without being murdered was beyond her. 

“Why are you still here?”  
“Because I was sleeping you maniac. Are you physically incapable of taking a chill pill?”  
“A what?”  
“Oh my God, why can’t you just be normal for one day, Pansy?”  
“Why can’t you get out of my flat?”  
“You know what? Fine. I’ll leave.”  
As he got up, he pulled the sheet off of her bed.  
“That isn’t yours,” she yelled after him. “Take your ugly clothes and leave my Egyptian cotton!” Pansy decided that men would never, ever learn. They were damned to be stupid and a pain. It was too bad that this one was so good in bed. 

Intoxicating, really. Practically addicting. That would probably explain why she got drunk and fucked him approximately five nights a week.


	2. Say when.

A week after the utter disaster that was Alcoholics Anonymous, Pansy sat at her desk. She had thirty-three missed calls from Draco and ninety-six texts ranging from “pan i’m so sorry that i yelled at u lets sit down and talk” to “Pansy Parkinson I am on my way to your flat with detailed plans to murder you and hide you somewhere where no one will ever find your body.” While she appreciated his enthusiasm, Draco was too much of a coward to commit murder and too much of an idiot to ever be able to fool the police. 

The only problem was, against her better judgment, she had been ruminating on the whole situation. Deciding that, yes she was an addict, it just wasn’t alcohol. She spent time wondering if perhaps she was a sex addict like virtually every celebrity but quickly squashed the idea. She wasn’t addicted to sex. Did she like it? Yes, obviously. But it was the who that was the problem The thought made her gag.

She was addicted to Harry Potter.

Yes. While it did make her incredibly nauseous, Pansy could now admit it. The good news is that practically everyone was in some form of love with the asshat. He had those annoying fangirls back in school and even the teachers practically drooled on him. This meant that there must be some kind of support group. Potterheads Anonymous, perhaps. The idea really wasn’t half bad. It was about forty-nine percent bad, but it would be extremely useful to her and the other people who were afflicted.

Maybe he had some kind of sexually transmitted disease that was making her want more and more. Not herpes or chlamydia, but something in that general realm. It was equally disgusting. There had to be an antibiotic she could take or an antiparasitic. Potter probably had a little bug that had invaded her brain and was causing her to act outlandishly. That was the only thing that made any sense.

Pansy considered calling her gynecologist but thought better of it. Sadly, what she needed right now was even worse than a pap smear: a therapist.

She took three minutes to find one on the internet before making the call. Pansy caught herself chewing on her nails. It was a disgusting habit, not as bad as sucking Harry Potter’s dick, but disgusting nonetheless. Her mother had scolded her over it her entire life, but it was a habit Pansy couldn’t shake. The receptionist finally came on the line. Pansy stated that she needed an appointment as soon as possible, to which the receptionist told her that the therapist had a cancellation and could meet with her today at two.

Being able to get a same-day appointment was not a good sign. A good doctor, mind or not, should have a waiting list, only scheduling six months out. Normally, Pansy would scoff and find someone else… but due to the severity of her case, she felt that the speed was probably in her favor. Having confirmed her appointment, Pansy attempted to get back to work.

She managed a staggering three full sentences and an hour of blankly staring at her screen before it was time to leave. Twelve minutes before her appointment, she parked in front of the white building. It didn’t look like a clinician’s office, but rather a place to buy doilies or perhaps needlepoint pillows. Above the door, there was a black sign reading “POPPY POMFREY COUNSELING” in bold lettering.

Not only did the therapist have cancellations but her name was Poppy. A child’s name. Pansy did have to take a step back and admit that it wasn’t that different from her own name, but that didn’t make it okay. She continued to mull over both the name and her ability to criticize the name as she stepped up the stairs looking out of place with her suit jacket and skirt, both in black tweed. 

Opening the door to reveal something that did, in fact, look something like Pansy’s mother’s parlor - her guest parlor, of course, not the one for the family or more esteemed camarades. There were berry colored chairs and a sofa with an ornate backing. Pansy snorted when she saw the needlepoint pillow reading, “If friends were flowers, I’d pick you!” 

“You must be Miss Pansy Parkinson,” shouted a stout woman sitting behind a rectangular desk. Pansy considered how this was very likely to be a breach of confidentiality. There didn’t seem to be any other patients, but it still didn’t seem right to declare her arrival. If anyone found out that she was at a counselor’s office it would be the talk of the town. Or, the talk of the society and also her friends. Perhaps also the whispers of all the people she went to school with. And the shouts of her mother because Parkinsons deal with their problems discreetly. Behind copious amounts of waterproof mascara and self-loathing.

Nodding to the woman to assure her that yes, she was Pansy Parkinson and no, she didn’t need to continue speaking. Pansy decided the safest option would be to perch on the sofa which was far enough away from the receptionist to avoid a conversation. There were booklets and magazines on the table. The booklets being about depression, anxiety, and proper ways to deal with them. The magazines seemed to be for fans of gossip and/or interior design. 

Pansy looked up as she heard the sounds of footsteps and saw an older woman bustling into the room.

“Miss Parkinson?” At this, Pansy stood and nodded. The woman, who she assumed to be the therapist gestured for her to follow into a back room. 

Upon entry, it seemed quite similar to the waiting room. Except this one was furnished in goldenrod yellow. Luckily the pillow had a floral design rather than another bullshit inspirational quote. As Pansy sat on the sofa, she sunk in a bit which was disconcerting. The older woman sat across from her in the straight-backed chair and crossed her legs.

“Hello, Pansy. My name is Poppy Pomfrey and I will be your counselor,” she began, “I was hoping we could start off today with you telling me why you’re here.” Pansy took a deep breath. How could she explain her sexually transmitted addiction and borderline alcoholism to this woman? She looked like she had never had sex in her life. Like she poured tea and looked longingly at the countryside every day. 

“Well to be perfectly frank, I’m here because I’ve come down with an affliction.”  
“Oh? Do you care to tell me more?”  
“I keep getting drunk and fucking this guy and I know I shouldn’t because he has a hero complex and I’m a normal human person, but I just keep doing it. And then my friend, his name is Draco and let me just tell you, he is whipped. He had this fiancee who is just so annoying. But he’s totally into her. He doesn’t want to get drunk and commit arson anymore. All he wants to do is decide between orchids and calla lilies when we all know that they should use gardenias. And Draco’s acting so fake coming to me trying to help when he has no idea what he’s talking about. Can you believe it? He tried to take me to AA. I’m not kidding! He truly believes that I’m an alcoholic,” Pansy panted out. She suddenly became aware of where she was and who she was talking to and how grand her hand gestures were. Swallowing and folding her hands primly on her laps she tried to fall back into an appropriate appearance of being casual while also being visibly better than you. 

“Okay, Pansy… May I call you Pansy?” the woman asked. Pansy gently nodded her head, trying to quell the redness blooming on her cheeks.

“Are you here because you’re feeling abandoned by your friend - Draco, you said his name was - or are you here because you’ve been having… sexual intercourse with someone - or are you here because you wanted to stop drinking?” The first option seemed a bit harsh. Draco wasn’t making her feel abandoned, she just felt pity for him that he had turned into what they had previously vowed to never become. And she wasn’t here because she’d had sex, it was more who she was having sex with and the sheer amount of times they’d had sex. As for the third option, how many times did she have to explain that she drank exactly as much as she wanted to drink? The only problem was that the effects of said drinking were problematic.

“I’m here because I want you to cure me of my addiction to having sex with this one person. Optimally, I would want to never see his face ever again,” Pansy said. That was probably the simplest way to put it and she hoped that this Poppy woman would understand… maybe she would even know how to fix it. Perhaps even turn back time to when she had never fucked Potter, her brain functioned, Draco had never met his betrothed, and everyone was happy. 

“Tell me about him.”  
“What?”  
“This man that you’re in a relationship with. What’s he like?”  
“How many times do I have to tell you? We are not in a relationship.”  
“Okay, so tell me about the man you’re not in a relationship with.”

Pansy sighed. This was not the easy, wave of a wand treatment that she had expected. She thought about lying and describing visions in her head or homicidal thoughts to get some entertainment out of the experience but decided that she would never be cured if she didn’t follow directions.

“We met at the bar…. Well, technically, we met at school. And he was a major asshole who everyone sidled up with,” she rolled her eyes, “my friends despised him and he and his friends despised us.”

The old woman nodded, sagely, “And how did that make you feel?” Pansy narrowed her eyes and frowned deeply.

“It didn’t make me feel anything.”  
“You wouldn’t be here if that were true.”  
“You’re sure that you’re licensed?”  
“Pansy, why are you evading?”  
“Evading? Why are you so daft?”  
Poppy crossed one leg over the other as she took a steadying breath. This was the biggest waste of time… and money. She thought Pansy was an idiot, but she wasn’t. What part of infectious Potter addiction disease did she not understand?

“How about you tell me about your current trysts with him,” the therapist encouraged. Pansy sighed again, likely breaking a world record.

“A tryst is romantic, this is not romantic.”  
“Okay. Then how would you describe it?”

That was the first good question that Poppy had asked. How would she describe it? Pansy went to the bar, had a few drinks, Potter shows up, they drunkenly dance on the bar or do some other mischief. One of their latest shake-ups had involved Pansy daring him to climb a light pole while naked. A small smile came to her face which she quickly shook away. There it was again. That damned virus.

“I would describe it as a mistake,” Pansy said as stoically as possible. Poppy Pomfrey stared at her, frowning while studying Pansy for anything she could use.

“A mistake that you continue to repeat,” she finally said. Pansy flinched as if the woman had smacked her in the face. She was unsure why it had affected her so much. Of course, it was a mistake. And, obviously, she had repeatedly done it -- done him. So why did having this septuagenarian spinster point it out hurt so badly?

All she could do was nod. Poppy dolled out a sympathetic smile which made the hurt even worse. A prickle sparked in her eye, a familiar feeling, but one that she despised. Pansy willed herself to hold it in. She would cry exactly never. 

“What am I supposed to do?” 

The pity in Poppy Pomfrey’s eyes told her everything she needed to know.

 

Walking out of the decrepit office and towards her car, Pansy pulled out her phone once again. She pulled it to her ear as the ringing sounded. A smile came to her face as she heard that familiar voice if she were being completely honest she loved that voice. Missed that voice.

“Hi, Draco. Can I come over tonight?”

 

Walking on the cobbled pathway to Draco’s front door always made her want to retch. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. From bar crawls to crawling babies. Draco didn’t technically have any children, but the metaphor still stands. She forcefully jammed her finger into the bell two times. Bringing her arm, covered with the bell sleeve of a pretty blue dress, down to her side she waited. Lights were on throughout the house, making it appear even more lived in. Like a home. Pansy’s nose crinkled at the thought. She and Draco didn’t have homes. They didn’t need homes. They had houses for a bed and a kitchen and that was it. Even as children, they had large houses there for them to spend as little time as possible.

The door opened and revealed a woman in a shapeless knee-length dress. Her hair was in a half-up-half-down style and she looked as though she had attempted makeup, the poor dear.

“Oh, it’s you,” Pansy said, brushing past her to make a beeline to Draco.  
“Nice to see you too, Pansy,” Draco’s petty monstrosity of a girlfriend replied. Pansy never caught her allure. She was pretty, but not that pretty. Not all that pleasant to be around. Draco must have caught a sexually transmitted disease, too.

Finally, Draco came into view. He wore a light blue button-down shirt and light dress pants. As children, they had made a pact to wear black every day of the rest of their lives to display their disdain for life, but Draco bailed out of that one too. Of course, she was wearing blue today as well, but that's beside the point.

“Pansy, it’s good to see you,” he wrapped her in a hug as he spoke, “I missed you.” Pansy relished the closeness with her oldest friend but shoved him away.

“Don’t get sappy, Malfoy,” she told him. His smile grew wider as he spoke, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Pansy did love him. Not romantically, but as a brother who was about three months younger and needed her to raise him. She wasn’t particularly maternal, but she played the part for Draco. Nitpicking his clothes and his hair and his actions. Grabbing a handkerchief to wipe the occasional thing off of his cheek. Smacking him when he was acting like a complete buffoon. The typical motherly things.

“You said that you had people over tonight, but I found it beneath me to ask,” she said to which he nodded. “Now I’m curious, who are the sad sacks who have nothing better to do than come to your house for dinner?”

Draco chortled, he always found her so amusing. Sometimes, like today, she played into it. She wasn’t the type of person to come crying with sadness or fear. When they were children and then teenagers and then young adults, Draco needed her to be strong for both of them. She needed to act normal for him. They couldn’t both be depressed and without any idea of what to do next. She retained the attitude of being a holier-than-thou prude so that he could figure himself out. If she told that to a therapist she knew that she would hear calls of “what about you?” but Draco needed her. She didn’t need Draco’s support. She didn’t need anyone’s support. So it really did balance out quite nicely.

“Theo and Daphne,” he started.  
“Of course.”  
“And Harry Potter,” he finished.  
“What? No. Why,” she screeched. Draco gave her an odd look. Pansy Parkinson didn’t screech. Well, Pansy Parkinson was known to screech. But not like this. She screeched when Draco was running late and accidentally wore a black suit with brown shoes. A nightmare that she still had frequently. She screeched when a dog came over and got muddy pawprints on her skirt. She did not screech when she heard of an unsavory dinner companion. She grimaced, yes. Grumbled, sure. Screech, no.

“Yes, Potter,” Draco said with a grimace of his own, “I don’t like it. You don’t like it, but it is what it is.”  
“Divorce her,” Pansy said.  
“What?”  
“You heard me. Divorce her. She’s bringing foul, loathsome creatures into your house.”  
“Pansy, we aren’t married.”  
“Divorce her!”  
“You do know that I am standing directly behind you, right,” she asked.  
“See what I mean, Draco?”

Draco rubbed his temples. Pansy felt somewhat badly. He tried… Well, he didn’t try, but he wanted them to get along. He thought that his best friend slash surrogate mother would accept his girlfriend. But he should have known that said girlfriend and said girlfriend’s best friend were manipulators who spread toxic brain eating diseases.

Hermione Granger hooked Draco in with her vagina, or whatever she had that could hook someone, and turned him into putty. Now they were living together in this disgustingly homey house. Hosting friends for dinner parties and being generally cringey. In December, she had opened up her mailbox to discover a card. The return address had both of their names on it and inside was a picture of them together. Draco looked like a middle-aged father and Granger wore a velvety dress on top of sheer tights. They were both smiling and posing with text reading Happy Holidays imposed on top. It was disgusting. 

She hated them. Individually, Draco was great. Before they got together, Pansy would have the occasional interaction with Granger and she was perfectly pleasant. But she was not for Draco. Hermione Granger should have been with someone equally boring and disheveled. Draco should have continued the bachelor/bachelorette life with her. Drinking and dancing and being careless. If he refused to do that, he could have at least found someone beautiful and prim. Someone in their circles. One of the women with whom Pansy had tea. Not studious, Pansy-hating Granger.

Pansy rolled her eyes and she continued on into their dining room. Hopefully Pansy could snag a seat that was far from Potter. Best case scenario was that Potter and Granger both shriveled up into piles of ash, but that was unlikely. Sadly, the only seat available was adjacent to Potter. 

Before sitting down, she made a show of hugging Theo and kissing both of Daphne’s cheeks. While she didn’t quite care to admit it, she loved Theo and Daphne. Before Draco sidled down with Granger, he would call them Nottgrass and Pansy would laugh. Secretly, they were almost like a fairytale to her. She didn’t believe in marriage, but if she did she would believe in Theo and Daphne. They were in love and they were happy. They still retained the ability to banter and bicker. They also were able to have separate lives and interactions. Daphne could go shopping with Pansy without talking incessantly about Theo. Theo could go drinking with her and Draco and… okay, Theo was a lost cause. He had to get home to Daphne and couldn’t get wasted because Daphne was waiting up. But other than that they were perfect.

Theo pulled out her seat because he was a gentleman and, even though they were already married, he had an obsession with impressing Daphne. Whispering a thank you, Pansy couldn’t help but notice that Potter was staring at her. His green eyes a match to his green Oxford and his glasses crooked as always. She purposefully didn’t meet his eyes. He made her uncomfortable. How was she to overcome her addiction with him being right there and the bottle of wine in front of her and him looking at her like that?

Potter leaned forward and snagged the bottle of wine. He began pouring the deep red liquid into her glass.  
“Say when.”  
She didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this a little later than I had expected. I think this will be four chapters, but who knows. It keeps expanding.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a short one shot, but it's turned into a couple chapters before my eyes. Let me know what you think.


End file.
